Insanity
by ArtificialImagination
Summary: Erik is determined to figure out the mystery.
1. Insanity

A rant in story form.

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any other characters in the story below.

Nov. '08: Hm. This chapter ran away for a while, but it's back now!

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There is a world connected to ours. It lies directly beside our world, connected only by a small amount of the same sky. This world is generally invisible to us, but every once in a while someone catches a glimpse into it. Inspired, that person soon creates something that reflects what they had seen.

These seers are what we call writers.

Every story we love, every favorite movie, every song that has moved us, has been written about events or people that occurred in this other world.

And in this other world there is a palace. This palace is larger then any we have on earth. Four, five times larger. And inside this beautiful palace live those whose stories have become so famous on earth that their fame have spread across the other - the fictional –world.

Inside the palace live the likes of Dracula, who lived in the oldest tower; Elizabeth Darcy and her husband owned a room overlooking the lake; Frodo Baggins had the largest hobbit hole in the world out by the garden; and Marius and Cosette spent most of their time strolling through the afore-mentioned garden, staring at each other lovingly.

Even the designer of the wondrous palace lived there, though he stayed mainly in the basement. It had taken the designer many years to design the place, but due to the magic in the literary world (a magic that was begun by Merlin), it had only taken a week to build. There were thousands of rooms above ground and thousands of rooms below. There were cellars for wine (which was a favorite drink among the residents – except for Dracula, of course), four theaters, one Opera, two bell towers, eighteen nurseries, nine kitchens, eight ballrooms…so many rooms that a full list would fill a book as long as War and Peace.

A favorite room of the residents of the palace was the library – or rather, libraries. Some of the libraries belonged to other residents (one particularly large one belonged to Belle and her Prince), but there were four or five that everyone was allowed to use.

Inside of one of those libraries was a great fireplace, and at the table in front of the fireplace sat a man, leaning over the table which was full of books that were titled _The Phantom of the Opera_, or having to do with that subject. This man was so drawn in by his studying that he did not notice someone moving through the shadows of the unusually dark library.

"They love you, you know," the voice from the shadows spoke.

The man was startled, and his eyes searched through the shadows. He relaxed when he saw who had been speaking.

"Who do you mean?" he asked the figure.

The figure in the shadows pointed to a mirror that rested on a wall beside the great fireplace.

This was no ordinary mirror…none of the mirrors in the palace were. The wizard who had created them had made them to not only be able to reflect, but also to be able to show our world to those who lived in the fictional one. All someone had to do to spy on us was to walk to the mirror and name the person – or the type of person, such as 'A fan of Harry Potter' – and the mirror would show the asker whoever it was they wanted to see.

Currently the mirror was showing a girl with short blonde hair and dark green eyes, clinging excitedly to a full color program of a musical. She was chattering with a friend that stood beside her as they waited in a line to enter a theater.

"Ah," said the man at the table. He turned away from the figure and looked back to the books.

"They love you because you are so _handsome_,_" _you could hear the frown in the voice from the shadows. "And so _loving_ and _kind_ and _passionate._"

"And they hate you," the man at the table laughed. "I do not understand why they do. Why should they despise someone such as you?"

"Is that why you are here?" the voice in the shadows asked.

The man nodded. "I want to see what they see."

The figure slowly emerged from the shadows and took a seat at the table beside the first man. "I do not think that is possible."

"Neither do I," admitted the man. "However…I want to try."

The figure picked up the nearest book and flipped through it. A moment later something caught his eye, and he paused to read it. After fully examining the page, he tossed the book down in disgust. "Monsieur Phantom?"

The first man looked up. "Yes, Vicomte?"

"What is it you think you will find?"

The Phantom gave a graceful shrug. "Something that will explain the _insanity_ of the people in that world."

"Insanity?"

"Yes," the Phantom sighed, exasperated. "Why else would they hate the obvious hero so? Why would they want the handsome, sweet, self-sacrificing young man to die a terrible death? Why would they call a man who defied his family and duty for love, who risked his life for a stage girl, who gave up everything he had and could ever be for a girl who most thought mad, who joined the Navy to explore the world…why would they call him a _fop_? They must be insane."

"Perhaps they simply do not know what the word means…" the young man suggested.

"Bah! You try to see the good in everything," the Phantom scowled, and turned back to his studies.

The young man looked back to the books stacked on the table, but he was afraid to look at another one. What else were people writing about him?

"Monsieur Phantom?"

The Phantom sighed again. "Yes, Vicomte de Chagny?"

"I do not mean to offend…however…" Raoul hesitated, and then spoke. "Why do they love _you_?"

Behind the mask, the Phantom smirked.

"I told you, they are insane." The Phantom looked up from his book. "They think I am handsome, though the point of my story is that I am not. They think I am not as mad as I seem – hah! – and that I am the world's perfect lover."

The Phantom began to laugh, which unnerved Raoul. It was the same sort of laugh he used while the Persian and Raoul had been trapped in the torture chamber, and Erik had dragged Christine away from them.

"Obviously they ignore my temper!" The Phantom snickered. "Somehow I doubt a perfect lover would threaten to kill his love if she did not agree to stay with him until the day she died."

Raoul nodded, now uncomfortable. He preferred to not remember the past, especially when he was alone in a room with the man who had tried to kill him.

He decided that pretending to read one of the books would be better then continuing the conversation, so he picked up the book he had previously thrown aside. However, once the Phantom began to rant, there was no stopping him until he had run out of steam.

"They adore me and they hate you! They blame _you _for my unhappiness – as if you had that power!" the Phantom continued, his voice rising in anger. "As though it were _your_ fault I was born a corpse! As though it were _your_ fault I grew mad and decided to live my life under the opera house! You even showed _concern_ for me, when Christine and you were playing at being engaged. Oh! And as though it were _your_ fault Christine is so wonderful! You could not _help_ but love her."

"And I loved her since we were children…" Raoul interjected, and then shut his mouth quickly. He did not want to tempt the Phantom while he was in a temper. However, the Phantom didn't seem to mind Raoul adding on.

"Exactly! You knew her before I did, even…How could it be _your_ fault she loved you?" the Phantom stopped suddenly, reflecting. "Well, actually, it _is_ your fault…you couldn't just stay away, could you? You had to keep pursuing – but that is beside the point! You were in love with her; of course you couldn't give up on her."

Raoul just nodded and tried to find the nearest exit.

"As if they had the right to hate you for me! If I blamed you, I would hate you myself! Why would they think I would want them to hate you _for_ me?"

"They think you do not exist…" Raoul muttered, forming a quick escape plan in his mind.

Erik heard him. "_Still!_"

"I think I ought to go-"

"Is not the moral of my story to look past appearances? To accept people as they are?" Erik continued as though he had not heard Raoul. "They claim to understand the story, but they are fools! They hate the hero and love the villain! They do not _accept_, they _despise_."

Raoul stood. "I really should be going…"

"And they love me! They _think_ they do, at any rate. They should feel pity for me, sympathy…not this _love_. If it were true love – but it is not! They do not know me! They cannot love me! They are _fools!_ I loathe the lot of them. If I could have them all put into the torture chamber to burn, I would!"

"I really must-"

Erik took in a deep breath and fumed. "Erik will not stand for it any longer! He is not the gentle man they think he is, and they will soon see! Erik will show them! He will show them all! Erik will not stand those _fools_ any longer!" He slammed his fist against the table, shaking a large pile of the books which then fell to the ground.

_Oh, no,_ Raoul thought. The Phantom was speaking in third person now…that was a sign to protect yourself – and quickly. Raoul held up the heavy book he had been pretending to read between himself and the Phantom, and looked at the closest door – would he make it out in time?

But the Phantom had ended his rant abruptly, and he was looking up at Raoul. Raoul was frozen in place, staring silently back at the Phantom. They regarded each other in silence.

"…Why are you standing? And why are you holding a book like a shield?" the Phantom suddenly asked.

"I…" Raoul was at a loss for words. He slowly sat down again and put the book aside. "No reason."

The Phantom cocked his head curiously. "Sometimes I wonder if _you_ are losing your mind, Vicomte."

Raoul gave his old rival a weak smile, and now admired Christine much more for braving two weeks alone with this madman.

"So…" Raoul began shakingly. "If they are insane, why are you looking for an answer in these books?"

"Some of these books have brainwashed them," the Phantom answered. "Also, they have some very interesting information in them. Did you know that you are an abusive drunk who would rather spend your time with a prostitute then Christine?"

Raoul's eyes widened in shock, and his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment at the idea that he would go to a lady of the night. "_What?!_ I would never - ! After fighting for her so much and risking my life to be with her for even a short while – _where_ would they get such an idea?"

"I told you – fangirls are _insane!_"

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**RubyMoon's Secret Place**

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RubyMoon: Well, here's the first of what is sure to become a number of story-style rants. I hope you…er, _enjoyed_ it.


	2. Madness

A/N: Took me long enough to get fed up with something else.

I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. Gaston Leroux does. Yes, he does.

This chapter isn't as good as the last one, but I'm not nearly as fed up this time around.

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It was at least three weeks later when another figure entered the library, in search of Erik.

The library was hardly recognizable now. It was still large, and still had the same fireplace and the same mirror and the same table covered with books titled _The Phantom of the Opera_...however, most of the bookshelves were missing, and the few that were left were filled with more books dealing with the subject of _The Phantom of the Opera_, as well as folders upon folders filled with sheets of white paper covered with notes in red ink.

Once there were magnificent paintings covering the walls of the library; now instead there were large boards with writing on them. Some were white with wipe-able ink, and some were black covered in chalk notes.

Before one of these black boards was the Phantom of the Opera himself. In one hand he held paper that had obviously been printed from the internet (there were perfectly formed black words, surrounded on nearly all sides by picture advertisements), and in his other hand, he held a piece of white chalk that was so small he could barely hold it, and his hand shook as he wrote. He paused in his writing, looked down at the paper in his right hand, and then continued his notes on the blackboard.

He was so absorbed in his writing that he did not notice when the blonde woman approached the board, curious to see what held Erik's attention so. She walked forward as quietly as she could until she stood on the left side of him and could better see what he was writing.

**Christine Daaé – Traitor. Heartless. Whore. Stupid. Player. Naïve to the point of**

She was shocked. She felt her face grow pale and tears build in her eyes. Unable to stop herself, she took a short, quick breath and began to cry.

"Oh, Erik!" she cried out. "I...I did not...surely you don't _believe_...!"

Erik spun around in surprise – he hadn't even heard her come in! He cursed himself for not noticing her approach, and dropped the chalk and paper to the ground before throwing himself at her feet. He gripped her dress and buried his unmasked face in the soft fabric.

"Oh, Christine!" he moaned. "Forgive me! I do not mean those things...it is simply a study of fools!"

"A study...?" she echoed numbly.

"Yes, yes!" he cried fiercely into her dress. "I do not think those things of you. I never would! You are everything that is good and pure and beautiful to me - you know that!"

Before she had a chance to respond, he'd jumped to his feet and had taken her arm and pulled her to another board. He pointed at the name atop it: **Erik**.

"Look, look-" he insisted. "Do those qualities describe _me?_"

She looked at the words beside his name, mouthing them silently to herself.

**Adorable. Hot. Sweet. Sexy. Erotic. Handsome. Sex on legs. **

Christine wasn't sure what to make of most of those...adjectives. She couldn't picture any of them at applying to Erik, though admittedly she wasn't quite certain what the last one meant. How could one be...

Attempting to picture Erik as intimacy with legs perhaps wasn't the best thing for a happily married woman to do, Christine decided. Instead, she gave Erik a weak smile.

"I see, Erik," she said softly. "You do not hate me."

"Never, my dear," he insisted, sighing with relief that she now understood. "Damn those simpletons for making you doubt my love! I will never stop loving you, Christine, never."

Christine discreetly hid her left hand behind her back...now would not be a good time to remind him that she was a married woman. Instead, she changed the subject.

"What are you studying, Erik?" she asked, her eyes drifting across the boards. Most were filled with notes of people she knew, such as Raoul or the Persian or Giry, the Box Keeper. Some of them made little sense to her, though. For example...when had Madame Giry learned to dance, and what exactly was a 'pimp cane'? Or when had the Persian acquired a son? Or Raoul been with a prosti – _oh_...perhaps she shouldn't read the boards anymore.

"Fangirls, my dear," Erik answered. "In the other world, there seem to be _legions_ of young women who seem to think I am their perfect match, and vice versa."

Christine frowned. "Why would they think that?"

"I do not know, however..." Erik drifted off suddenly. His hand had gone to cover his forehead to show frustration, but he froze when he felt flesh there instead of porcelain. His eyes widened and he dashed to the table that held the black mask he wore only around Christine – she was the only one he didn't want to frighten!

"Forgive me!" he cried out, quickly trying the mask in place. "I have been alone in here for quite a while...I'd forgotten I wasn't...that I hadn't...oh, I am sorry..."

"It is alright, Erik," Christine insisted softly. Honestly, she had grown quite used to his face over the years; plus, she could still easily recall the Great Zombie War, when frightening creatures had attempted to take over the palace. Seeing _those_ creatures - with limbs falling off, and rotting flesh peeling off their bodies – had made her a little less alarmed by seeing Erik's face. At least she knew_ he_ wouldn't attack her in a desperate attempt to eat her brain.

Erik turned when he was certain the mask was fully in place. "Oh, Christine...you are so _good._ You brave Erik's face with a smile, and reassure him when he is upset...I still remember when you burned my mask...though you were terribly afraid, you still did it _for me..._"

Oh, dear. Third person. And not only was he referring to himself as 'Erik', but he was talking about the past again. It was time to distract him.

"Erik, what do those...words...have to do with me and fangirls?"

"Ah," Erik said, and gave a wicked chuckle, the same sort he gave when he was thinking of tossing Raoul into the torture chamber again. "Those idiotic _fangirls_ believe that those words describe you."

Christine gasped in shock. "But...but..._why?_ When have I ever been _heartless?_"

"Never!" Erik insisted. "In fact, you care _too much, _if you have any flaws whatsoever."

"Then why do they call me that?"

Erik sighed, uncertain of how to explain such nonsense.

"Sit, my dear, I will explain..." he said. He walked to the table and cleared the books and papers that covered it. He put them all on the floor beneath the table and then pulled her chair out for her. He waited until she was comfortably seated before sitting across from her. He folded his hands, twining his long fingers together, and then undoing them, and then putting them together again. He was nervous; he'd never intended to tell Christine about any of this.

"Well?" Christine asked after a full minute of silence. "Why do they call me such things, Erik, if I am not like that?"

"They hate you," Erik began, and then realized how foolish that was. Christine couldn't bear it when others hated her.

_"Why?" _she asked breathlessly.

"They love me," he continued, now drumming his fingers against the wood of the table. "So they hate you. They blame you for not choosing to marry me...they think you are responsible for my unhappiness."

Christine frowned. "But...Raoul told me they thought _he_ was-"

"They do." Erik shrugged gracefully. "They seem ready to blame everyone but myself for my unhappiness."

"I still do not understand why they believe such words describe me."

Erik sighed again, and turned his eyes to the board that held Christine's name and the various adjectives that followed it. "Most of it comes from ignorance," he said softly. "They have not read the true story...they have read other's versions of our story, which they wrote to fit their own fantasies."

Christine was confused. "Their fantasies are that I am cruel?"

"Only because they think it makes me more...available," Erik explained quickly. "As I said, they believe I am their perfect match..."

"And vice versa," Christine finished softly.

Erik nodded. "That particular branch of fangirl will believe anything if it means I am not with you."

"Branch?" she frowned. "How many kinds are there?"

"Many," he informed her. "I'll tell you more about the others when I've studied them further."

Christine nodded silently, folding her hands in her lap. "Earlier...you said 'most'. '_Most_ of it comes from ignorance.' What does the rest come from?"

"Misinterpretation," Erik answered. "Mostly of when I let you and Raoul play at being engaged."

"But you let me! You told me to do so, and I lov-" Christine stopped suddenly, not wanting to remind Erik of her marriage and possibly anger him.

"I knew," Erik sighed. "I knew you loved the boy...and that he loved you. I knew what I was doing when I told you to...or, I thought I knew. I thought he would be so miserable at having you but _not_ having you that he would go away. Your pretending to be engaged was more my idea then your own..."

"Then _why_?"

"They never make _sense,_ Christine!" Erik exclaimed, standing suddenly and pacing the room. "I've been studying them for _weeks_ and I have nothing! Nothing! They're too unpredictable. They love the bad, hate the good, think _you_ mad for not wanting to live with a _madman_...!" he took a deep breath and fumed. "They think you a – a – slu – a....!" he seemed unable to say the word 'slut' in front of her. "Because you were in love with someone while someone else was in love with you. It's not your fault who loves you. It's not your fault who you love. How can they think you a – a- a woman like _that_ because you loved someone? Have _they_ never loved?"

Christine tangled her fingers in her lap while she waited for Erik to finish ranting. She hoped he wouldn't throw anything this time.

"Have _they_ never had someone love them, which they did not love? And that is turning our...our _situation_ into the most simple of terms. You did what you could with what happened; you tried so hard to make everyone happy...it wasn't your fault that your efforts just trigged my madness."

There was a long stretch of silence. Christine decided that his rant was over, and that she really didn't need to understand anything else, if it was going to set him off again. She stood slowly while Erik caught his breath.

"Thank you, Erik...I understand," she said. "The Mad Hatter wanted to invite you to tea..."

"What, again?" Erik scowled. "When _will_ that _thing_ understand that I do _not_ want to have tea him or his maddening friends?"

Christine giggled, and then went to relay Erik's declination.

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**RubyMoon's Secret Place**

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**RubyMoon: **Thanks to all previous reviews. Like loads. I appreciate it. Ja ne!


	3. Craziness Part 1

a/n: I didn't think I'd ever update this at this point! Now I have this chapter written, the next planned, and I'm definitely doing a Love Never Dies chapter.

The writing style is different, because the earlier kind of more difficult to write and hard to duplicate after so much time. I hope this still...flows, somewhat, haha.

Anyway, here comes the next rant!

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Time passed rather quickly after Christine's visit to Erik. It was a whole month after Erik's refusal to join the Mad Hatter's tea party when something…odd happened.

The March Hare was just spreading some strawberry jam on his friend's often-broken pocket-watch when the tablecloth suddenly flew up, taking their tea things with it. A strange, swirling blue light appeared under the table for a moment, and then there were high-pitched screams. The light spit out two girls and disappeared before the tablecloth fell back onto the table with a 'crash'.

The tw0 girls crawled out from under the table, getting to their feet slowly. They looked around themselves, obviously frightened, as the Mad Hatter and March Hare stared at them.

The taller of the two girls was a redhead, with her hair cut short to curl around her ears. Her eyes were dark brown and lined heavily with black. Otherwise her face was clear of makeup, though her fair skin had a natural blush to it. She wore a black tanktop that revealed a red rose tattoo on her left shoulderblade, with the word 'forever' written on a blue 'ribbon' below it. She was wore low-slung light blue jeans and plain black sandals.

The other girl was nearly a foot shorter than the first. She had large grey eyes, and her hair was light brown and wavy and fell down a ways past her shoulders. Her lightly tanned face was framed by bangs going straight across her forehead. Her makeup was put on lightly, though not very natural-looking. She had a thin line of purple eyeliner on under her eyes, slightly shimmery white eyeshadow, and pink lipstick. She wore dark blue jeans, a grey tshirt, two long necklaces made of small pink beads and zebra striped flats covered with sequins.

The two girls looked at each other.

"Um...do you know what's going on?" asked the shorter girl.

The taller one shrugged. "No clue. Unless I'm dreaming." She pinched herself with black-tipped acrylic nails. "Nope. Not dreaming."

"I was hoping I was..." muttered the shorter girl. She turned to the table and froze. "Um."

The taller girl turned as well, and jumped when she saw the tea party guests.

The four stared at each other for a few minutes in silence.

"...You _weren't_ invited," insisted the Hatter.

"Um..." the shorter girl said again, backing away from the table. "I think I'm going to go...somewhere else."

The taller girl nodded, and the two trotted down the gravel path towards the palace gardens.

The Mad Hatter and the March Hare stared at each other for a moment before the former stood.

"...Tea?"

* * *

The two girls wandered down the path together, making their way towards a more open area, filled with flowers and a fountain spraying water high above their heads.

"I'm Erin," the redhead introduced herself. "I figure if we're in this together we might as well know each other's names."

The brunette nodded. "I'm Claire. Nice to meet you, Erin. Er..." she motioned to their unknown surroundings. "Sort of."

Erin laughed. "I know what you mean."

They continued walking, Erin resting her hands on the back of her neck and Claire slipping her hands into her back pockets.

"Where are you from?" asked Erin. "You have an accent I can't place."

"Texas," responded Claire. "I do have a bit of an accent, I guess. You're from...England?"

"Australia," Erin corrected. "Though I've lived in America – California – for a few years now."

"Oh," said Claire. "Awesome."

"...So, no idea where we are now?"

"None whatsoever. You?"

"Nope."

They both sighed and continued walking, until something sparkly hit their eyes. They both winced, looking in the direction of the sparkle.

"Is that..." whispered Claire.

"No _way,_" responded Erin.

But there was no denying it. This sparkle was in the shape of a man, a blonde-haired man dressed in a doctor's coat.

"No fucking way," said Erin, and then repeated it again and again.

Claire stood staring with wide eyes. "_Carlisle-freaking-Cullen._"

"There's just _no way_," Erin muttered. "He's fiction! Not just fiction but _bad_ fiction."

Claire lightly hit Erin on the shoulder. "He is _not._ Carlisle is amazing."

"Oh, no, you're a _Twihard,_ aren't you?" Erin sighed. "At least it's not Ed-dork."

"I'm not," said Claire under her breath, though she continued to stare at the sparkling figure in awe.

Erin looked from Claire to the sparkling vampire and back again. "Well," she began, "At least I know I'm not hallucinating. I'd have come up with a better vampire...like Lestat."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Ew. Lestat is an irritating little-"

"Hey, careful who you're insulting!" insisted Erin, putting her hands on her bony hips and glaring at her companion.

"Marius is so much better than Lestat! And Carlisle is better than _Marius_, so therefore-"

"No way, Lestat is the _best._"

"Whatever," said Claire, deciding that fighting about 'fictional' vampires probably wasn't the best use of their time. "Let's just go ask Carlisle if he knows what's going on."

"Are you _serious?_"

"Do you have a better idea?"

Erin frowned. "No."

The girls turned and walked across the red brick walkway, headed towards the vampire, who was talking with a little girl with her shirt sticking out the back like a ducktail. As they approached, he and the girl turned towards them, faint frowns on their face.

Claire tried hard to contain her excitement and nerves as they reached Carlisle and the girl. She'd always loved Carlisle Cullen's character, and now –

"Hey," said Erin sharply. "Where are we?"

Carlisle hesitated, and then looked at the girl. "Prim, maybe you should-"

"Where are they?" demanded a beautiful, dangerous voice from the other side of the fountain. The two girls turned and saw a tall man in formal clothing and a full black mask approach them. He had a determined stride, and once he reached them he clasped one of their wrists in each of their gloved hands.

"...Erik," began Carlisle slowly. "What is going on here?"

"Something that is none of your business, _Cullen,_" said Erik stonily. Then he turned and began walking off, dragging the two girls along with him.

The girls were completely silent, but they glanced at each other with a look that said they both knew who this was, and they were both completely starstruck.

"_The Phantom of the Opera,_" mouthed Erin to Claire. Claire nodded, but she didn't seem quite as excited to see him as Erin. She seemed more worried about where they were going.

* * *

It turned out that they were only going to a library. This library only had a few bookshelves in it, and those were mostly filled with folder upon folder of papers with red notes. There were chalkboards and wipeboards everywhere, and a mirror and large artwork which might be recognized as being from the Gaston Leroux novel. Tables upon tables held Phantom-themed books, such as The Phantom of Manhattan, Progeny, Journey of the Mask and Susan Kay's Phantom. There were also piles of printed paper on some tables, most of which could easily be recognized as fanfiction.

Only one table was clear, with three chairs around it. The Phantom led them to two of the chairs, and then disappeared back out the door, wordlessly.

"What's going on?" whispered Claire to Erin.

Erin slowly shook her head. "I don't know. But I _like_ it."

"Really?" asked Claire, surprised.

"What, you don't? You know who that is, right?"

"Of course I do," sighed Claire. "That's why I'm scared."

"Scared? Of what? Of-"

She cut her sentence short when the Phantom walked back in, carrying a silver tray with a tea set on it.

"Tea?" he offered.

"Yes, please," said Erin, smiling politely. H_e _began pouring her cup. Claire eyed the tea, somewhat suspicious.

"I only drink herbal tea," she said softly.

"Yes, I know," responded Erik, which didn't help Claire's nerves at all. "It's peppermint."

"Oh, um..." said Claire. She debated a moment whether she was more afraid of the tea or being rude. "Okay, then. Thank you."

Once everyone's tea was served, Erik took a seat.

"You are Erin Waters and Claire Bennett, correct?"

"Yes," replied both the girls softly.

"And you are both fanfiction writers." This was not a question.

The girls looked at each other for a moment, and then nodded in reply.

"Excellent," said the Phantom. "I am going to ask you some questions."

* * *

disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera: Gaston Leroux, Twilight: Stephenie Meyer, The Vampire Chronicles: Anne Rice, The Hunger Games: Suzanne Collins.


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